


The Coldest Winter

by torviironside



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:28:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21609097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torviironside/pseuds/torviironside
Summary: A Fem!Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes fanfiction.Stephanie "Stevie" Rogers can't let go of the past. Doesn't want to let go of the past. Letting go of the past would mean letting go of Bucky and she promised him before their family and friends that she wouldn't. Until death did them part. Even after that. Hydra makes their play and sends The Winter Soldier to hunt and kill her. Except, The Soldier's memories begin to resurface and a simple mission becomes a complex web of fascination and discovery.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 11
Kudos: 22





	1. Introduction: Stevie

**Author's Note:**

> I will probably, definitely, re-write that summary in due time. I had a different one written originally but I lost it at work. :(

“ _A symbol to the nation. A hero to the world. The story of Captain America is one of honor, bravery and sacrifice. Stephanie Rogers was chosen for a program unique in the annals of American warfare. One that would transform her into the world’s first super soldier. Battle-tested, Captain America and her Howling Commandos quickly earned their stripes…_ ” The Narrator’s voice seems so loud, the words ingrained in her not just because she lived it but because as painful as this wing is, filled with so many things …pieces of her past that she knows will never be reclaimed she cannot stop herself.

She can’t let go.

“ _Best friends since childhood to highschool sweethearts, Bucky Barnes and Stephanie Rogers would eventually be wed shortly after leaving school. They were inseparable both at home and on battlefield. Barnes is the only Howling Commando to give his life in service of his country, making their epic and acclaimed worldwide love story a tragedy._ ” It is here she stops, standing at the memorial for James — her Bucky — unable to help the dart of her eyes towards the things salvaged from their Brooklyn apartment after they were announced killed in action. A once wool-white baby blanket knitted by her mother — for the child they’d never gotten the chance to have — their wedding photos: the original and one blown up large taking up an entire wall. Her wedding dress in its case of glass. His boxing gloves. 

Her jaw clenches as a muscle jumps in her cheek, fighting back the heat and well of tears along her bottom eyelids. Yet, fight as Stevie does …they fall all the same, salty tears spilling over her eyelids in betrayal to her and sliding down her cheeks. Quickly, with the sleeve of her sweater beneath her unzipped leather jacket she swipes at them before anyone takes notice.

Subconsciously, she reaches up to touch the chain around her neck — always around her neck — to assure herself that it’s still there. Nestled against her collarbone are his dog tags and her engagement ring. The plain silver wedding band is still worn on her ring finger; a fight that Fury knew better than to pick with her.

‘ _Just because he’s dead doesn’t mean I love him any less. I might be his widow but I am still and will be, for as long as I live, Mrs. Barnes._ ’ And that, much to everyone within ear shot of their unquiet disagreement’s relief, had been that.

Stevie’s hand closes around them, pressing them as discreetly as she can to her lips before lowering them back down beneath her shirt. She adjusts her hair beneath the smoke grey beanie she wears in an effort to conceal her identity, hoping that to the worldwide visitors of the Smithsonian, she is just another woman here to marvel over Captain America’s defiance as a pioneering woman. Not the only one, she would be quick to correct anyone. There were plenty of stronger woman before her …and plenty that followed after her.

She takes a deep breath, sobering up, feeling the uneven catch breath it in her chest as she spares a last, mournful and yearning look at the silent, black and white clip of her and Bucky dancing at their wedding. They were all smiles, and laughter, full of newly-wed glow that, as told by many accounts, had never faded. Not even the horrors of war could tarnish the light of their love.

They hadn’t had much money, certainly not enough for a honeymoon of any kind, but they’d spent week in bed, listening to a Frank Sinatra record, pretending they were on some tropical island somewhere with nothing but them, the sand, the sun, the sea. Bucky’d even clipped some pictures of tropical beaches from magazines to put on the wall of their tiny bedroom.

Stevie tears her eyes away, focusing on the steps it would take to get her out of this wing, stopping as a group of school girls crowded around her to peer thru the glass at her wedding dress.

“I bet she looked lovely in this!” They gushed.

“I don’t know who was luckier: Stevie or Bucky!” Another girl piques up. Stevie pushes past them quietly, blending into the background, thinking to herself that it was she, always her, that was the lucky one. It was no secret that James Buchanan Barnes could’ve had any woman he wanted and pre-serum Stevie had been scrappy, almost boyish, and sickly. Dying.

Prior to accepting the super soldier serum she’d learned that she wouldn’t have lived thru the war. Even if things hadn’t happened how they had Bucky would’ve came home to her grave.

It seemed that no matter how it was spun, the what-if’s always ended in the same way. One of them would’ve died leaving the other to live their life as a small percentage of the person they’d been. Always missing. Always grieving.


	2. Chapter One: Stevie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse any spelling errors/grammatical mistakes.

Stevie parks her motorcycle in her designated parking spot of her building and sits there for a moment, feeling the heat of the engine against her thighs. The biting chill of winter nips at her flushed face as she takes off her full face helmet and tucks it beneath her arm. The climb up her building’s stairs to her floor is slow — more of a mulling process then because she couldn’t just jog up them four at a time.

The smell of laundry detergent wafts up the drafty wooden stairs as she makes her way to the landing her apartment is on, steps slowing as she shifts her body to make room for her neighbor, Sharon, who carries a pale blue laundry basket on her hip.

“Oh, hey Stevie.” Sharon greets her as their paths cross. “Long night?”

“Aren’t they always?” Stevie asks with a small smile noting that Sharon was still in her hospital scrubs. “You can just use my washing machine if you want, instead of wasting quarters on the buildings machines.” Stevie offers, tugging her keys out of the breast pocket of her jacket.

“Oh, no. I couldn’t. You wouldn’t want these scrubs in your machine.” Sharon dismisses her with a wave of her hand and a soft laugh.

“Are you sure? I really don’t mind. I barely use it. Nat might kill me if she saw me wear the same outfit twice.” Stevie jokes, trying to hide her cringe at the second bedroom of her apartment that had been turned into a walk-in closet courtesy of Natasha who doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer when it comes to shopping and ensuring that Stevie doesn’t dress like an old woman.

“Yeah, I’m sure. I gotta get going to the hospital soon anyway.”

“Okay, well if you ever need me for anything you know where I live.” Stevie says. “Have a good night, Sharon.”

“You too, Stevie.” Sharon calls down the stairs as Stevie unlocks her door and steps inside, shutting it behind her, listening for the familiar click of the automatic door lock. She drops her keys in the small crystal bowl on the bookshelf just inside the door and shrugs out of her leather jacket, hanging it up on a hook of the coat rack, her helmet following suit.

She steps into the kitchen, flipping on the light and makes a beeline for her fridge, pulling out a half-eaten container of last night’s takeout. She shifts thru the mail piling up on her small round table that she’s been ignoring. She had no interest in credit cards, letters of companies hoping to get her endorsement on their product or anything else. The only thing she does keep are letters. From people she’s never met before — from girls and women who find themselves inspired by her, from children. Though Stevie tries to stay out of the limelight — that was Tony’s place, after all — she was a big advocator for the lgbtq+ community and women’s rights; she taught boxing classes to troublesome kids and girls and women who came from abusive situations. Bucky, she thought with a pang of sadness as she picks out the personal letters out of the pile and shoves the rest into the trashcan, always was the better boxer; but despite her failing health pre-serum she’d been determined to learn to protect herself when he was inevitably whisked off to war.

She finishes off her food, makes a cup of tea and sits down to answer each letter, taking out the drawings that a few of them sent — two by little kids and one by a teenage girl with the kind of talent that made Stevie wish she had art community connections. All of her art community connections were long deceased, unfortunately. She’d once been a top student of New York City’s art school but she makes a note on a sticky note to call around before she takes a photo of the artwork with her touch phone and uploads them to social media, thanking each of them name before she sticks them to her fridge with magnets, covered near from top to bottom in artwork.

She finishes off her cold tea, stretches, grabs her book off of the coffee table in the living room and sprawls out on the couch, finding her spot with some difficulty given how very dog-eared each page was.

Stevie doesn’t remember when her eyelids begun to feel heavy but she begins to drift off all the same, the words of the pages blurring as her head lulls to the side against the plush cushion pillow and sleep takes her.


	3. Chapter Two: James

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cue the 'Explicit' part of this novel. There are some NSFW elements in this chapter and will be in others to follow. I will always put a note at the beginning when sex is written whether it's vague or detailed. Please read at your own discretion! :D

The Soldier releases a breath. Small. Involuntary. Even the smallest of movements will misalign his shot. He adjusts the zoom of his scope, crosshairs lining up on her. She’s made it easy. She hadn’t closed the curtains of her apartment — turned on the lamp at the window, put on a record, grabbed a book and stretched out on her couch. She’s fallen asleep. The book is dog-eared and open across her chest, her fingers slipping inch by inch off of the paperback, the blanket she’s tossed over her legs tangled and half slipping off.

As she is now, mouth slightly agap in her sleep, her face set in peaceful plains, Captain America doesn’t look dangerous.

It doesn't matter. Hydra wants her dead ...and beyond it all, this is personal.

There were several kill shots he could’ve taken. Every vital part of her body is exposed. Her head. Her heart. Her lungs if he’s feeling particularly merciless.

The Soldier’s flesh finger hovers over the trigger but he shifts from the roof he’s laying flat upon, his breath wrestling itself out of his lips on a soft groan muffled by the mask he wears as a memory fights to the surface of his thoughts. The Captain’s quarters — a small log cabin on a military base — a door with a small chain lock that doesn’t seem like it will hold. The Captain looking at him thru her lashes, her lips parted as he presses her back into the wall, the maps pinned to it crinkling against her back as her legs wrap around his waist.

Flashes of memories follow. Quick will-o-wisps that don’t allow him to linger on one long. Covering her body in kisses and love bites that would mark her as his for any of those men out there whose greedy eyes watch her. Her needy mewls as she writhes beneath him, coming undone on his fingers, his tongue and then around him. He was quick to follow with his own zenith.

The Soldier’s head lifts from the scope, metal fingers wrenching off the mask, finding it suddenly suffocating. He takes a deep, greedy breath of the cold night air, ignores the ache in his loins and presses his eye to the scope again, seeking the sleeping Captain’s body, unsuspecting in her slumber, in the crosshairs.

It was the wrong woman in those brief visions. False memories. The unsuspecting vulnerability on the Captain's face as she sleeps trying to manipulate him.

His finger presses against the small crescent of the trigger, drawing in and holding in his breath.

The soldier pulls the trigger.


	4. Chapter Three: Stevie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is split between a dream/memory of the 1940's and present day. For now, I formatted all memories/dreams in italics - I might change this later on when I'm going through and revising it. There might be some triggering content in this chapter so please read at your own discretion.

_“Stevie!” She turns from her place on the sidewalk, feeling sweat dew up on the back of her neck and at her temples, causing the wisps of hair that had gotten loose of her braid to curl to see Bucky jogging up to the scene. The New York evening is hot and humid, Summer in full swing. “Chief, what’s goin’ on?” He asks the chief of police hovering at Stevie’s side. She makes a small, indignant noise in the back of her throat and turns to him, holding up her hands which are handcuffed together in front of her with a florish._

_“Miss Rogers is being detained.” A side-eye is shot down at Stevie who mashes her lips into a terse line. “Again.” Stevie rolls her eyes, gaze following the curious stares of people who drive past, their cars puttering and sputtering._

_“On what charges, sir?” Bucky asks the chief, rubbing the back of his neck._

_“Assault.”_

_“I wasn’t assaulting him!” Stevie interjects loudly, voice rising in pitch at her frustration. “He’d have to be innocent for me to assault him.” She snarls at the man sitting on the stoop steps of the bakery with a slab of chilled dough over his eye. “He thinks that just because he’s a man he can do whatever he wants to girls who flirt with him. I caught him in the alley. He had her trapped against the wall and she was weepin’…” Stevie’s stomach twist sickly at the thought of what she almost witnessed, biting down on her bottom lip, her hands clenching into tight fists. She winces at the pull of open flesh of her knuckles and hopes that Bucky is too focused on the police chief to notice. “Does that look like the face of a girl who was interested in what he was offerin’?” She gestures with handcuffed hands to the girl who exits the bakery with an officer, her cheeks tear streaked, her eyes and nose puffy and red._

_Stevie holds her hands up waiting as the two officers talk in low hushed tones before the Chief sighs and twists the key in Stevie’s handcuffs, pulling them free from her slim, bony wrists. She rubs them and moves past James to the girl they’re putting in a cop car separate from the car the man’s being manhandled into._

_“Hey. You gonna be ok?” Stevie asks her softly._

_“Yes, I think so. Thank you.”_

_Their walk back to Goldie’s Boxing Gym was quiet. Neither of them spoke, and Stevie balls up the sleeves of her light summer dress around her hands to hide the split knuckles, though spots of blood begun to blossom thru the pale blue fabric._

_“Are you mad, Buck?” Stevie finally asks as she steps into the threshold of the closed gym as Bucky holds the door open for her and steps in after her, closing and locking the doors._

_“Why would I be mad?” He asks finally, breaking the silence as they walk side-by-side past the ring, following the dimly lit path by the floodlights hung high above. “You’re a punk, Stevie and I wish you wouldn’t run around punchin’ people…” Stevie looks up at him, stepping inside the office and plopping down on the rickety twin bed Mr. Goldie put in there for Bucky. Bucky pulls the chair around and opens the medicine cabinet, pulling out a cotton cloth and bandages . “but I’m not mad. You’re my hero.” Bucky says as he lays soaks the cloth in alcohol and holds out his hand as he straddles the chair. Stevie tries to hide her smile in the sigh of defeat as she lets go of her balled up sleeves and winces as he gently pushes them back to her wrist._

_“Nice try, doll.” Bucky teases her, his gaze going down to her hands, her fingers curling around the round wood as he dabs at the splits in her skin with the cloth. She hisses sharply as it burns. “You okay?” Bucky pauses, voice thick and low with concern._

_“Yeah. It just stings.”_

_“That was only the first split.” James laughs softly at her and she scowls at his head, bent to tend to her wounds. “Stop squirmin’.” He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, his voice a hushed murmur._

_“Stop bein’ a jerk about it and just clean the rest of ‘em.” Stevie grumbles at Bucky, grinding her teeth as he dabs at each split and then wraps each of her hands. She stretches her fingers cautiously as he puts back the alcohol and left over cloth and tucks the chair back beneath the desk._

_She looks over at him demurely as he settles on the twin bed beside her, the springs creaking beneath their combined weight, his thigh flush against her’s. It suddenly feels too warm in the room though the gym’s well circulated._

_“You’re so beautiful, y’know?” Stevie looks up at him, taken by surprise by Bucky’s soft and sudden words. “Split knuckles n’ all.” Stevie feels her cheeks flush beneath the steady weight of his gaze as it holds her own._

_“Mrs. Neely says no man’s gonna wanna put a ring on my finger with their scars.”_

_“Who’s Mrs. Neely?” Bucky asks distractedly, his face so close to her’s that their noses brush._

_“The Pastor’s wife, James.” Stevie breathes in reminder._

_“I know who she is. That wasn’t …”_

_“Kiss me.” Stevie blurts it out, hoping that she hasn’t misread the signs, that she wasn’t the only one thrumming with a desire to be nearer to him._

_Bucky kisses her softly at first. Not shyly and not uncertainly …but giving her a chance to change her mind. Stevie might’ve been insulted at the insinuation that there was any man that could come close to Bucky Barnes but her mind is suddenly clouded with him. And in truth, she couldn’t think of anyone else she wanted to kiss, to share her first kiss with. That she wanted to be kissed by until she forgot her own name._

_Encouraged by the fact that she was kissing him back, the kiss grows deeper, hotter, leaving her struggling for breath. By god though, she doesn’t want him to stop._

_Stevie’s hands grab Bucky’s waist, balling up his shirt wanting more of him, ignoring the scream of pain in her knuckles. The frantic beating of her heart is exhilarating but it is the wheeze of breath that struggles from her throat that stops the assault of Bucky’s lips._

_The corner of her mouth feels cold when his lips part from her’s and she tastes him — a faint hint of peppermint — with a small run of her tongue against her bottom lip. Bucky rests his forehead against her’s, breathless as she is, his eyes squeezing shut._

_“Buck, don’t stop.” Stevie begs him, moving until she can straddle, one leg on either side of his thigh. Bucky makes the most delicious noise that Stevie’s ever heard._

_“But your asthma…”_

_“Is fine.” Stevie shushes him, lips moving against his. She shifts against him experimentally, feeling the evidence of Bucky’s desire for her and she turns smug, her breath hitching in her throat._

_“I should take you home.” He gasps out thickly. The words are of a gentleman but the hand on her skirt covered thigh, the other cupping the side of her face, his thumb stroking along her cheekbone tells her something different._

_“I’d rather stay the night with you…” Stevie tells Bucky pushing him down on the bed._

* * *

The sound of shattering glass startles Stevie awake and she jolts to her feet with a startled gasp at the white hot pain that blooms in her shoulder. Her hand flies to press against the soft cashmere of her sweater to pull her trembling fingers away to find them sticky with blood that’s staining the ivory fabric crimson.

She lets out a cry of pain as she grabs her shield, strapping it onto her injured arm. There’s banging on her door and as she steels her shoulder against the weight of the shield as the door splinters and breaks in to find Sharon in her scrubs, a Glock in her hand.

“Cap!” Her relief turns to horror as she sees the blood. “Sniper on the roof! The Eagle’s been shot.” She says into her ear piece. “Cap? Cap!” Stevie eyes the distance between her window and the next building’s, backs up to get plenty of momentum and runs towards the window, holding her shield up as she jumps thru the splintered glass pieces and into the next buildings window. She tucks and rolls, using the shield to right herself as she propels up the stairs of the empty warehouse, ignoring the burning of her shoulder as she pushes open the emergency exit door and the wind whips her hair around her face.

The retreating shadow of the sniper across the rooftop, the rifle slung over his back, drives Stevie forward. She gives chase, gritting her teeth as she throws herself onto the next rooftop after him, her landing less than graceful. A small cry slips from betwixt her lips as she jars her injured shoulder and with the last burst of strength she has left she tosses her shield at him.

It sails elegantly through the air.

His metal arm rises to catch it without even looking and Stevie sucks in a pained breath as he looks to her, turning around so they were face to face. Her hand presses against the shot wound. He wore a black mask, hair wild around his face, eyes smudged with warpaint. The metal plates of his arm whirl and the shield is suddenly sent hurtling towards her. She reaches out to catch it on instinct, her heels skidding against the top of the roof from the unparalleled force of his throw. Her seeping strength finally wanes and she collapses, the shield clattering by her fingertips. She watches him drop off the side of the building thru blurry vision, her hearing tunneling to the chorus of “Cap’s!”, her head buzzing until she finally passes out.


	5. Chapter Four: James

The Soldier disposes of the sniper rifle first chance he gets, tossing it into the Potomac in his plight to disappear. This wasn’t his first mission in which he had a small time frame to become the ghost story he was known for. The Captain would be their first priority and he was confident that she would buy him enough time to disappear. His escape route already pre-planned he steps into a dark alley and climbs in the black Lincoln waiting for him, tossing the mask onto the passenger side seat as the car purrs to life with a twist of the key in the ignition.

The GPS lights up and begins directing him on which way to go to get back to their base of operations. The Soldier doesn’t actually need it. It’s merely a reminder that they’re watching him.

* * *

A half an hour later and he’s pulling into the garage of Pierce’s mansion, shutting the car off and stepping out. The Soldier bypasses the main floor, punching in the access code to the elevator that would take him to the basement, stepping into the elevator when the doors slide open for him.

“Soldier?” Pierce’s face comes into view from the small video screen in the elevator.

“Meet me in 5.” Was all The Soldier said, voice gruff. Raw from disuse, or, he thinks, raw from crying out in pain as they wipe him. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know how long he’s been out of cyro.

He sits down in the chair — his chair but he refuses to sit back even as he methodically begins to undo the straps of his uniform jacket. The mask is tossed on the nearby table where it clatters and faces him. The Soldier’s attention lifts from the mask to Pierce as she enters the room.

She’s dressed in a business suit, her blonde hair greying with age pulled back severely from her face and into a small bun. Her blue eyes just as severe.

Blue.

A different set of oceanic blue eyes look at him. Softer, alight with laughter and warm with love.

_“I could drown in your eyes, doll.” He flirts with The Captain unabashedly, her hand tucked against the crook of his arm, a stick of pale pink candyfloss grasped in her hand as the lights of Coney Island dance across her face: theme park lights chasing the shadows of the moonlit night._

The Soldier blinks, breaking his thousand yard stare and refocuses upon Alexandra Pierce standing before him expectedly.

“Report.”

“There were flashes. Of memories. I think.” The Soldier feels his brow furrow.

“Of your wife? That’s normal. You’ve been in cyro for over thirty years.” Pierce tells him offhandedly.

“My wife…” The Soldier trails off distantly. “Tell me about her.”

“I don’t know much, I’m afraid.” Pierce’s gaze leaves his own as she speaks, her lips lifting in apology. “I heard she was a red-head named Dottie,” The Soldier watches as she lifts her head and seeks his eyes again. “She was a nurse in the war.”

“And Captain America?”

Pierce’s eyes harden. “Captain America killed your wife in cold blood while you were out on a mission.”

The Soldier looks down then, watching the plates of his titanium arm shift and realign.

“Don’t be fooled by her, Soldier. She’s a master at manipulation.” Pierce tells him fiercely, stepping forward. “Report.”

“Captain America is injured.”

“Injured? You were meant to kill her.”

“I missed.”

“You don’t miss.” Pierce snarls at him. Her pulse jumps in her neck as she paces back and forth. “You have 24 hours to kill Captain America. Or I’m wiping you.” She threatens before she turns on her heel and walks towards the door. “The clock starts now.” She says as she steps inside the elevator and disappears from his sight as the doors slide closed.


	6. Chapter 5: Stevie

The steady beep of a heart monitor is what stirs Stevie to consciousness, though it is only partial. Like that state between asleep and awake where she is left disoriented and unsure of if what she’s seeing is real.

She opts towards not real because the figure looming over her bedside was not Natasha.

Stevie’s breath tears from her in a pained gasp — from the vision of Bucky, from the pull of the stitched wound on her shoulder. He looks different from the Bucky she remembers, clean shaven, hair shorn and slicked back. But it is her Bucky. Just with more facial hair and longer hair tucked back by a baseball cap. And despite herself she begins to cry, her heart rate monitor picking up in time with the rise of her heart rate.

“Bucky…” IV’d hand reaches for him, trying to shake off the worst of her sluggishness, wishing the super soldier serum would burn off the drugs quicker.

There is a war in his eyes as he stares at her. Stares through her as if she is nothing more than a ghost. There is confusion in the set of his lips, Stevie sees, and behind the tears it almost causes a hysterical bubble of laughter through the fog of the painkillers. That confused set of his lips, the furrow of intense concentration. It was a familiar sight to her. It filled her heart and made it ache simultaneously. She could remember seeing it when they’d sit at the table and sort out their ration book as they made out their weekly grocery list, trying to decide where she’d gotten the money to purchase a cake for when he returned from basic just before shipping overseas, not aware that she’d been tucking away coins into an old mason jar to do something for him. She’d wanted those few days they had together before he’d gotten shipped out to war special and Bucky’d always been worth the extra paper routes.

It was the same look he’d had on his face when she’d rescued him from the Nazi camp he’d been imprisoned in, in full Captain America spandex.

“Who the hell is Bucky?” He asks, moving stiffly and quickly to avoid the touch of her hand on his. Stevie feels her lip tremble as she tries to get up, tries to rip out the IV’s.

A gloved hand clamps upon her’s swiftly as she goes to rip off the heart monitor. Her frantic clawing at everything she’s hooked up to stops and she stares at him through eyelashes glistening with tears. She watches his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly and reaches up to increase the painkiller IV.

“Bucky! Buck…” She protests but his grip is strong — stronger than her own, which was a first, and she quickly feels the weight of her eyelids. Stevie fights it, blinking away the sleep that threatens to take heruntil the fog is too heavy and despite herself she is lulled to a troubled sleep.


	7. Chapter Six: James

The Soldier exits The Captain’s room as quietly and without attention …just as he’d entered it.

“Have a good night, sir.” The young nurse at the counter chirps as he moves past towards the double doors that slide open to let a red-head thru carrying two coffees from the nearby Dunkin Donuts. The hospital, all things considered, is quiet and though on instinct The Soldier takes note of every breathing soul in his vicinity he assesses them as non threats, tucks his head down into the upturned collar of his heavy peacoat and steps out into the street.

He shoves his hands in his pockets, flesh fingers wrapping around the flimsy feeling keycard for the hotel Pierce had put him in until his mission could be completed. The bed was too soft but if she insisted on wasting her money on it he wasn’t going to complain.

A pair of women walk huddled together on his left hand side and though The Soldier has no actual interest in their low murmured conversation too much time as an assassin has made him adept at isolating conversations and eavesdropping.

“Did you hear about Captain America?”

“Yeah…I read on the news.”

“I know she’s a super soldier but I hope she’s alright.”

“I don’t even wanna think about what would happen to the world, to the Avengers if she was killed.”

The world…

The Soldier picks up his pace and ponders that as he makes his way to the hotel. Alexandra Pierce told him of how evil and vile The Captain was. That by killing her, he’d be doing good work. Yet, the concern for someone they’d never met was evident in everyone in that hospital, to those two women on the street…

To the nightly news which he turns on as soon as he closes his room door behind him. Coverage on The Captain is on every news station he flips to and eventually The Soldier gives up, tossing the remote on the nightstand.

“Word on Stephanie Rogers, known more famously as Captain America, is said to be in stable condition after being shot in her home earlier tonight —”

“All Washington National Hospital is willing to tell us is that Captain America is in stable condition and on the road to recovery —”

“Thousands of people gather at the doors of the Smithsonian’s National Museum of American History where the wing dedicated to her is kept as well-wishers of Captain America in her recovery.”

The Soldier turns it off, watching as the TV screen goes black, turns on his heel and stalks out of his room and down the stairs to the lobby where he idly noticed a stand with colorful pamphlets of things to do in DC.

“I highly recommend visiting that.” The teenage boy at the counter piques up as The Soldier picks up the pamphlet to the Captain America exhibit. The Soldier looks up from it to the boy. “Lots of interesting things about Captain America in there.”

“It’s an exhibit about her so…” The Soldier speaks with an errant shrug of his shoulders in an ‘I expect so’ manner.

“One of the things people never really expected is that she’s actually married. It’s probably because she goes by her maiden name instead of her married name but if you ask me I don’t think it was her choice.”

“Her husband …,” The Soldier repeats the words, as if testing them out on his tongue. “He still alive?” The Soldier asks, more interested in this tidbit than he knows he should be. The teenage boy, whose name tag reads Mark, purses his lips and shakes his head sadly.

“Nah man. He was killed in the war. There’s a video, narrated by Peggy Carter. She doesn’t come right out and say it but you can determine that Cap watched him die and that she was a total wreck. Ultimately, it was what made her crash land that Nazi plane she hijacked in the Arctic. It’s pretty tragic. Especially since she didn’t actually die. Her super soldier serum kept her alive in that ice that they dug her out of.”

“If you ask me,” Mark continues without needing encouragement from The Soldier. “it seems like Cap didn’t want to live in a world where her husband didn’t. It’s kinda bittersweet in a twisted way if you’re into that romantic, Romeo and Juliet thing. Anyway, she still wears her wedding band. All my friends say that its because she has a good girl, 1940’s image to maintain but that’s because they’re delusional and think they’re gonna date her or something.” Mark gives an errant wave of his hand behind the counter. “She loved her husband. She still does. After reading their history I don’t really think there’s anyone else out there for her.”

The Soldier is quiet as he focuses on refolding the pamphlet, not quite sure what to do with the information he’s just been given. Somehow, it feels critical. Of course he’d think that. For a spy, any information is important information. But this feels different. Heavier. Intimate.

How was it possible that The Captain had all these people manipulated into loving her?

“I’ll check it out.” He tucks it in the back pocket of his black cargo pants.

“Good choice. Good choice. Hey, you kinda look like him, y’know?”

The Soldier is slightly taken aback, hesitating at the door of the stairwell.

“Who?”

“Him, man. Sergeant Barnes. Cap’s husband. It’s a little wild actually…” The boy’s voice trails off. “Hey, you ok? You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine.” The Soldier snaps at the teenager, opening the door to the stairs and taking them three at a time. 

He returns to his room and sleeps fitfully at best, haunted by will-o-wisp memories that don’t belong to him. 


	8. Chapter Seven: Stevie

_“How was your day at art school, doll?” Bucky asks her the moment she steps into the threshold of his modest Brooklyn apartment. On the days she had classes she would just stay at his place, but Stevie found herself staying over even when she didn’t have classes. She’s says it’s more convenient but the truth was she likes being here with him. He’s cooking, she takes note of the smell of salmon fondue that wafts thru from the archway of the tiny kitchen._

_Stevie shrugs out of her jacket and hangs it on the coat hook, dropping her keys on the top of the bookshelf, stepping on the backs of her shoes to step out of them._

_She lifts her small sketchbook — a gift from Bucky — from her jacket pocket and feels herself smirking as she smooths out the skirt of her dress._

_“Fantastic, actually.” She replies lightly. “How was your day at the Factory?” She asks him conversely with a soft hum as she steps into the kitchen. The wooden table Bucky has is small but seats the two of them comfortably. She places her sketchbook down on the table as she takes a seat, knowing that Bucky would chase her out of the kitchen anyway, always afraid she was going to burn herself._

_“I actually didn’t go to the Factory today. Well, I did, but they pulled all us guys for physicals.”_

_Stevie looks down at her notebook, picking idly at a loose thread at the sleeve of her sweater. Physicals. Just a week ago America had entered the second World War after the attack at Pearl Harbor. They didn’t speak of it but there was rumors going around the city of drafts. Bucky hadn’t ever contemplated going to war. When she’d brought it up while all their couple friends gushed about it Bucky had made it very clear he wasn’t going to voluntarily sign up. Stevie knows it’s because of her. She knows he doesn’t mean to but she feels bad about it. All of his guy friends appear excited for the opportunity to fight. Ready to take up arms to protect what they loved the most. Meanwhile, Bucky declined all their attempts to get him to go to the recruitment stations. No one came out and said it but Stevie got the suspicion that they all thought she was a burden to him. She couldn’t exactly blame them. She’d thought of herself as such numerous times over the years._

_“The money’s good, Buck.” She says quietly, twisting her engagement ring around her finger. It was a beautiful pearl and diamond silver band, an heirloom of the Barnes family that came from his grandmother._

_“I don’t care what the Army’s payin’. They can keep their money and their damned war. If they want me to leave you they’re going to have to drag me away fightin’.” Though his words are romantic and warm her heart she knows if the Army drafts him he won’t have a choice._

_“They just might.” At the look Bucky shoots her, Stevie, knowing when she’s pushing too far, backs off. They’re quiet for a few moments, Bucky opening the oven door slightly to peer in at his fondue and Stevie watching him, fingers drawing idly over the wrinkled paper edges of her sketchbook._

_“You gonna show me what you drew today?” Bucky asks, changing the subject, gesturing to her sketchbook. Stevie feels the corners of her lips tug upwards again into a coy simper._

_“I will,” She hedges. “Y’know we began our study of life-drawings. Specifically, human anatomy.”_

_“Oh yeah?” Bucky asks, always interested in what she’s studying in college. “That’s when you draw people nude, right?” Bucky asks._

_“Mhm.”_

_“Man or woman?”_

_“Man. A sailor, actually.” Stevie hums teasingly, enjoying toying with Bucky. Watching as his lips mash into a terse line and his eyes roll with a quirk of his brow._

_“You gonna tell me you were impressed or somethin’?” Bucky scoffs turning back to the oven as Stevie rises to her feet. Though Stevie realized it wasn’t overly lady like of her she got some enjoyment out of knowing that she could make her fiancé jealous. She didn’t think Bucky had ever meant to but there were plenty of times he’s made her jealous over the years. It wasn’t his fault that she paled to every girl that ever crossed his path. They were beautiful and tall and healthy. No Astigmatism. No Scoliosis. No partial deafness. No Arrhythmia. No Asthma. No chronic colds. No stomach ulcers. No Pernicious Anaemia. No fatigue that kept her indoors and in bed at Bucky’s insistence a lot of days._

_The days where Bucky didn’t spend keeping her out of trouble, he was still taking care of her. Loving her wasn’t easy. Keeping her as healthy as she could ever be while she was hellbent on proving she wasn’t as weak as her body betrayed her to be was likely just as exhausting for Bucky._

_“Impressed?” Stevie scoffs. “Hell no.” She stretches up on her tiptoes as he turns around to face her, grabbing his shoulder as his hands rest lightly upon her waist, drawing her nearer. “I’m proudly and unabashedly biased. He had nothing on you, Buck.”_

_“You’re such a punk.” Bucky murmurs into her good ear, teeth nipping against her earlobe. Stevie draws in a sharp breath, back arching as she presses against him as his lips leave a fiery trail down her neck. “Y’know I was thinkin’ maybe we should move our wedding up. I know we talked about the summer but …” but the war changed things. He left it unsaid to avoid another disagreement between them about it. “Mr. Goldie said we could use the gym as a reception area and the Pastor’s already told me he’d officiate our wedding whenever we wanted to have it.”_

_“In an awful hurry to make me Mrs. James Barnes, aren’t ya?” Stevie teases him._

_“I don’t see the need to wait. ‘Sides, you’ve practically moved in and the old ladies next door are not as deaf as we thought. They talk, Stevie.” Stevie laughs, catching herself with her hands on his chest._

_“In my defense I can never hear how loud we actually are.”_

_“From the stares that could freeze hell, probably pretty loud.” Bucky laughs._

_“I’ll see if my mama can bring over my wedding dress. But you gotta promise you won’t peek.”_

_“Cross my heart.” Bucky says, following thru with the hand motion._

_“Mmm, good, now go check your fondue because I think it’s burning.” Stevie wrinkles her nose and shoos him back towards the oven as she begins to gather silverware and plates to set the table._

* * *

Stevie wakes up, more alert than she was the last time, resisting the urge to sit up immediately. She still feels a bit groggy, her limbs a bit too heavy. 

“Nat?” She asks, noting the redhead sitting in the visitor’s chair at her bedside.

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty wakes up. And I didn’t even have to kiss you, imagine that.” Nat teases but the relief in the Black Widow’s green gaze is not hidden.

“Where is he?” Stevie asks, pushing herself up into a sitting position.

“The doctor? Let me call him —”

“No, no. Not the doctor, Nat.” Stevie says, grabbing the other woman’s arm to stop her. Natasha sits back down slowly, concern twisting her lips. “Bucky.”

“Bucky?” Natasha asks, opening the untouched cup of Dunkin Donuts coffee on the side table and handing it to Stevie who takes it with a quiet ‘thank you’. “Your husband, Bucky?”

“Yes.” Stevie says around the cup of coffee that has that distinct just heated up taste. It wasn’t as fresh as when Natasha brought it, Stevie knows, but it’s still good. And she hopes it will help to shrug thru the last vestiges of grog from the pain meds.

“Uh, Rogers …one of the nurses gave you too much painkillers thru your IV. They did a lot of touch and go as far as how much to give you because of the serum. You kept burning them off too quick. You were probably just dreaming.” Nat’s voice is gentle, soothing and apologetic.

“No. I wasn’t dreaming, Nat. I saw him. Standing right where you’re sitting. He upped my pain medication through my IV.” Stevie protests. She knows she wasn’t entirely ‘there’ but she hadn’t been entirely out of it either. She always dreams Bucky how she remembered him: how he was pre-war and during the war, for the months they fought side by side.

“They gave you a lot of powerful painkillers, Rogers.” Natasha tries again, voice urgent but soft. Stevie takes another sip of coffee, trying to hide her growing frustration with her teammate and fellow Avenger.

“I wasn’t dreaming, Nat. And I’m not crazy.” Despite having different stances of morality she gravitated towards Natasha out of all the other’s and not just because she was the only other woman on the team. They didn’t always agree but there was a mutual respect there that Stevie didn’t totally feel with the others. She often got the feeling that Bruce didn’t want to be there half the time — understandably — and that Thor didn’t take them as seriously as he perhaps should. And then there was Tony. Their squabbles were nothing sort of legendary among SHIELD. Stevie often felt like she spent more time running in circles with Tony as they battle for leadership of the Avengers, arguing what was right and what was wrong instead of actually getting any groundwork accomplished. It wasn’t that Stevie couldn’t take a difference of opinion — Bucky was always making sure she saw the other side of things when she couldn’t and Natasha was a clear example that Stevie could work with someone who operated in that vastly grey area of morality.

It was just …maybe, she admits, they were too similar. 

To say that Stevie hadn’t enjoyed the spotlight as she rose to become America’s savior would be a lie, even if it took Bucky telling her often that she was always the center of his world and that she’d never been invisible to him to humble her when her ego threatened to get too big.

Stevie watches as Nat looks up at her thru her lashes and pops her bubblegum before she stands up quickly, shutting the door to Stevie’s room before she casually presses a button on her phone, drawing the blinds.

“You really need to work on being secretive, Rogers.”

“What the hell is going on, Romanoff?”

“I’m not going to pretend to know why you saw your …deceased husband,” Stevie can tell Natasha struggles to say it as delicately as she could, as if reminded that just because it’s been seventy some years since his death to the world, to Stevie who was frozen in ice for all those years, it’s still all relatively fresh. “but I think I knew who shot you.”

“Who?”

“They call him The Winter Soldier. Half of the intelligence community doesn’t even think he actually exists. Your wound…it matches mine.” She lifts up her shirt to show her a twin wound on Nat’s hip. “Soviet slug. No rifling. Bye-bye bikinis.”

“Yeah, like you look real terrible in them.” Stevie feels herself snort sarcastically at the implication that Natasha Romanoff wasn’t one of the most gorgeous women she’s ever laid her eyes upon. “So, what you’re saying is he’s a ghost story?”

“I’m saying that I’ve tried tracking him and it always ends in a dead end, but Fury left something to me before he went off the grid. SHIELD’s been compromised and I think The Winter Soldier has something to do with it.” She holds up a small USB drive. “Feel up to a little road trip?” Stevie looks at all the tubes in her arms and frowns. “When you’re released, of course,” Natasha adds, tucking the drive back into her pocket. “…which should be any day now given your penchant for rapid healing.”


	9. Chapter Eight: James

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, it's me...
> 
> Ok, ok. In all seriousness, I just wanted to drop this little note to let y'all know that I'm going to have to slow down a little bit on how often I update this. I'm almost caught up to the current chapter I'm writing and I want to be able to keep updating on a pretty regular basis. So, for right now I think I'll be updating this every two days to give me some time to write the chapters during the work week ( I work a full + part time job, plus with holidays coming up things are a bit hectic ). Look for the next chapter on Sunday, December 8th! :D

The Soldier dresses as inconspicuously as he can, which was the same outfit he wore to the hospital the other night, jeans, sneakers, a plain tee-shirt beneath a military style peacoat with a baseball cap. Not that he expected to be recognized. No one was going to be paying attention to him, not when they were there for Her. Captain America. The entrance to the museum was packed with people and he tries not to let his discomfort show as he moves stiffly thru the crowds of tourists and supporters. He knows he moves too militaristic, eyes darting this way and that as he takes stock of the people surging around him. Once inside the actual building, the warmth rushing to greet him as it combats the cold from outside the open door, the crowd thins as teachers roll-call their students to different wings and tourists branch off trying to fit in everything they want to see and determine the best place to start.

In his pocket, crumpled in his flesh hand is the glossy pamphlet he’d taken the night before from the hotel lobby. A tilt of his head is given as The Soldier glimpses up at the signs indicating the different wings of the museum. Finding Captain America’s sign he heads in that direction, idling behind a young father being drug by his two young daughters who had ahold of either of his hands, chattering excitedly about Captain America as they went.

Without warning The Soldier zones out, taken back, this will o’ wisp more determined than the others.

_He can feel the sentimental smile tugging at the edges of his lips of it’s own accord as he watches her._

_“Hey dollface,” The Captain coos to the chubby infant swaddled in the cradle of her arms.Though small and frail, she positively glowed as she rocked the sleepy newborn in her arms, cooing softly to the baby who yawns largely, soothed by the gentle rocking motion The Captain has adopted._

_“She looks good holding a baby.” The infant’s mother says from behind his left shoulder._

_“Yeah, she does.” He hears himself agree, trying not to melt into a puddle on the floor all the while fighting the simultaneous ache in his chest. Kids hadn’t ever really been an option for them. They both knew her health was far from ideal and plenty of doctors had pulled him aside to discreetly advise against it, expressing concerns about how ‘protective’ they were being despite it being unlikely she could even get pregnant at all, to outright suggesting that he and her not have any sexual relationship. It was risky, they told him, with her heart conditions. With her asthma._

_So, he was careful and attentive and …always thinking about it in the back of his head._

_“There gonna be a baby Barnes in the future?” The baby’s father asks, holding a bottle of beer to him after clapping him roughly on the shoulder. He took it. Downed it. Contemplated asking for another._

_“Oh, no.” The Captain answers. “It’s just not possible with my …health.” She admits, smiling sadly down at the slumbering infant in her arms._

The Soldier snaps back to, with a slow blink of confusion to find that he’s stepped into the darkened wing of Captain America’s exhibit without knowing how he’d gotten there.

‘She’s a master manipulator’. Pierce’s words echo in his head as he begins the tour, trailing after a hyped up class of kids who snap pictures at everything, not wanting to miss anything.

Somehow, The Soldier feels a firm tug of doubt in his gut. To fool the whole world? And then there was the issues of those …memories. How could she possibly implant fake memories in his mind? Especially when, as far as he knew, Pierce and her scientists were the only ones messing around with his head.

The Soldier’s progress thru the exhibit was slow, reading everything about her that he could.

The moment he stepped around to the next half, featuring her Howling Commandos, he stops short. Staring him right in the face is a memorial. With his face on it. 

JAMES BUCHANAN “BUCKY” BARNES.

Dated with his birth and death date. Bucky. That was what The Captain had called him in the hospital.

‘You look like him, y’know?’

‘Who?’

‘Sergeant Barnes.’ Captain America’s husband.

No. Not Captain America. That wasn’t how he ever saw her. In fact, he remembers, vaguely, there and gone before he can latch onto it, teasing her for it. For the name. For the infernal song. For the outfit …despite that he remembers in a small flash that fizzles as quickly as it appears …that he found it kinda attractive, asking her in the smoky pub if she was keeping it.

Stephanie. But no. He didn’t call her that. ‘Steph’ a lot of people called her, but he’d never liked that nickname. Stevie. 

The Soldier forces his legs to move, turning the corner and coming to the centerpiece. The memorial to the Howling Commandos. There, in the center of the arrangement was the original Captain America costume and the prop shield. Beside her’s, standing at her right was his, his face painted beside her’s on the memorial wall behind the outfits of the Howling Commandos.

Confusion settles in, heavy. It matches up. As to why the brief flashes of memories he’s been having all focus around Captain America. Not the faceless woman that Pierce had said was his wife.

He’d been lied to. His memory wiped over and over. Why? Because he would always come to this point …where realization begun to sink in? 

Having seen all he needed to see The Soldier — James. No, he thinks. Bucky — turns on his heel and heads out of the museum planning out his next course of action as he heads back to the hotel room where his gear is stored.


	10. Chapter 9: Stevie

“Here.” Stevie swings her legs over the hospital bed as Natasha drops a full designer bag on the end of it, dropping a pair of combat boots at the foot of the bed.

“What’s all this?” Stevie asks, shifting the hospital gown over her legs.

“I told you. Road trip. I’ve been contacted to return to base so I can’t go with you like I planned but everything you need’s in that bag. Plenty of clothes and other necessities.” The subtle shift of Nat’s eyes tells Stevie all she needs to know.

They’re being watched. Or, at the very least, Natasha is. The problem being, Stevie isn’t a spy. She wasn’t trained in the art of being covert and having to do it without the Widow’s company felt a little terrifying.

“Oh and here. Your leather jacket. For luck. And you know …because you look fantastic in it.” Stevie pushes to her feet and reaches forward to hug Natasha.

“Be careful.” She whispers into the other woman’s ear.

“You too, Rogers. I’ll contact you as soon as I can.” They separate and Stevie pretends to shift through the bag but actually just pulls out the first pair of jeans and shirt that her hands touch. “Have fun.” Natasha smiles as she steps out of the room. 

Stevie slips into the bathroom and changes as quickly as she can, pulling on the boots when she steps out of the bathroom, pulling a soft turquoise hoodie out of the bag and putting it on before shrugging on her jacket. 

In the one inside pocket of the bag is a keyfob to a car and Stevie curls it gently in her palm trying not to show that it surprises her. She zips up the bag and shoulders it, stepping out of her room and into the hallway. She looks left and then right, finding the sign that points out the elevators and heads in that direction, letting out a noise of protest, about to wrench her arm and aim a high kick at the man’s face who dared to grab her only to falter when she recognizes the face beneath the baseball cap.

Stunned, Stevie allows him to drag her into a dark janitors closet, pressing her against the wall.

“I’m James Buchanan Barnes. Right?” The hitch of uncertainty in his voice wrenches in Stevie’s heart.

“Yes.” She replies breathlessly.

“You’re Stephanie Grace Rogers.” Bucky says this softer.

“Yes.” Stevie concurs, feeling tears burning in the back of her eyes. She watches as he looks down, at her lips, and then to glint of her engagement ring pressed against his dog-tag hanging off the silver chain she always wore.

“We were married on Saturday, December 11th, 1943.” He murmurs, suddenly as if he’s just remembered.

“That’s right.” She whispers thickly.

“We’re not safe here. You’re in danger.” He tells her, stepping back from her.

“Yeah, I know.” Stevie mumbles under her breath, following him out of the janitor’s closet, whisking a stray piece of her hair from her face. He pushes open the door to the stairwell and gestures for her to proceed while she points, errantly with her thumb, fingers still curled around the car keys to the elevator.

“Ok, guess we’re takin’ the stairs.” They take the stairs all the way down to the parking garage where he shoulders open the door, his eyes darting all around, surveying.

Stevie feels her heart rate increase in her chest, remembering why that confusion seems so familiar to her. He’d been similarly confused when she rescued him from that Hydra facility. Not quite to the same extent but a whole new fear settles in her stomach as she hits the unlock button on the key fob, trying to find the car that way.

The lights of a black 2014 Corvette flash.

“Of course.” Because Natasha Romanoff couldn’t have given her a more inconspicuous car.

Stevie slides in the driver’s side, tossing her bag in the back seat, starting the car and rolling down the passenger window as Bucky stands outside of it, at war with himself. She recognizes the look.

“I don’t know what happened to you, Bucky. Or who did it to you,” But she knows his memory was fractured, at least. That was easy enough to figure out on her own. I don’t wanna lose you again. “but I promise you I will find out and I will make them pay. You gotta decide whether you trust me enough to get in this car or not.”

She half expects him to turn away and lets out her breath in a relieved sigh instead as he opens the door and climbs in, shutting it behind him. She rolls up the window as she pulls out of the spot and follows the twisting underground path out of the parking garage and into the night-painted city.

The car’s GPS system lights up on the dashboard, painting the two of them in a pale blue glow, guiding them out of the tricky roads of DC and onto the highway towards Virginia.

“What’s in Alexandria, Virginia?” Stevie asks mostly to herself, eyes focused on the road, glimpsing down only when Bucky pulls up the preset routes programmed into the GPS by Natasha.

“Looks like a motel and a Best Buy.” Bucky’s voice cuts through the darkness and Stevie’s hands tighten on the steering wheel, remembering the USB drive Natasha had showed her the night before. She doesn’t mention it to Bucky, though, uncertain that she can fully trust him, even though that realization destroys her inside.

“I saw you fall from the train, Bucky. No one could’ve survived a fall from that height.”

“I did. I think…when you found me in that Hydra facility they’d begun the process.”

“The process of what? Of making you into a super soldier?”

“Yeah. I think that’s how I survived the fall.”

“If I’d have known —” Stevie chokes on the words, on the regret. On the grief. “I would’ve came for you. Buck, I’d have torn apart the world until I found you. Can you forgive me?”

“Stop.” He commands her quietly and she bites on her cheek to stifle the tears. “There’s nothing to forgive.” And then quieter but more certain than he sounded on anything else about their past: “I know you would’ve.”

Stevie glimpses at him quickly before her attention goes back to the highway, putting on her turn signal to zip around a log truck, before pulling back into the left lane.

“’Til the end of the line.”

“’Til end of the line.” Stevie repeats.


End file.
